Shades of Flushed
by Tawnya Kisaragi
Summary: A collection of not-quite drabbles about what it takes Sollux and Karkat to settle into a stable matespritship and the many other things that happen around them.
1. Chapter 1

With the exception of the first chapter (which ran for three pages), all individual sections were confined to a single typed page. The challenge was to keep this small and relatively simple. The whole of it is based around a friend's idea that no one actually died on the meteor; that was just a horrific nightmare Gamzee was having because of the lack of sopor. The names of the Ancestors are based off of the Celtic Trees for the relatively respective months. Uath (the Psiionic) is the Hawthorn, Duir (the Signless/Sufferer) is the Oak, Tyne (the Disciple) is the Holly, and Muir (the Dolorosa) is the Vine.

~Tawnya

* * *

You met him once, the one you're descended from.

You stood on a featureless plane just long enough to remember you were supposed to be dead when he was suddenly there, one hand resting gently on a dream bubble as he turned to look at you. Seeing an adult, let alone an adult psionic, should have terrified you. Honestly though, you were too tired to be more than passingly fascinated.

You'd seen pictures, but static images don't ever really prepare you for the reality. The twined horns are something of a mark for your caste, so you knew he was a yellowblood despite the mess his uniform was in. He's old enough that his skin's turned nearly jet black in colour, but the scars on his wrists, around his still dichromatic eyes, are still close to the ash grey of your own skin. You've rarely had to look up at someone, but he's at least another length taller than you, broad in the shoulder, narrow in the hip, and with enough muscle in between that he looks like the fully capable warrior he's supposed to be instead of the twig you are.

The both of you ended up staring at each other until you finally got curious about how strong he really was compared to you. You've never had a meaningful telepathic influence, basically just enough to take in the projections of other's thoughts, but that also means it's nearly impossible to feel when you reach out. Just a brush, to gauge how advanced his traits are… You didn't even get close before the sheer power burned you, and fuck if he hadn't noticed what you were trying to do. He smiled at you, rather sedately, amused and…appreciative? That smile also revealed the dual set of fangs, which made the similarities between you two downright identical. He never made a sound, but you swore he was laughing at you.

Suddenly, it didn't matter that he was older, stronger, bigger, faster and infinitely more skilled. You had survived the destruction of your planet, the destruction of Skaia, the destruction of your new universe, and Scratch, and now the birth of the Green Sun. You'd thrown a meteor the size of a small moon across paradox space. Like hell you were going to just let anyone diminish that. He might slaughter you; you were still going to make him work for it.

"So big in so many ways already. Not big enough in others quite yet." His voice was thunder and empty space. The teeth that produced such a god awful lisp in you only added sibilance to his words, softening an otherwise hard and intimidating edge.

"Fuck off," you growled back, trying to be as threatening as possible.

He smiled even more at that. "It's nice to see that not everything stayed the same."

It became rather obvious after that that he wasn't going to aggress against you, which killed the fight in you in return. You both went back to staring at each other. After an indeterminate amount of time, you actually felt comfortable enough to look away from him and to the buddle he had yet to relinquish contact with. Within was some sort of mountainous area, barren, rocky, but far from desolate. There was a cave set into a wall and a fire that burned in a well-tended stone ring, besides which sat—

"KK?!" You'd recognize those nubby horns anywhere. And the fact that he's in that bubble, blank-eyed, meant something that couldn't be true. Karkat was _never_ the one who was supposed to die during this fucked-up escapade. It was never his voice that spoke of death in your head, just lingering and excruciating pain in your ear for whatever you'd said that pissed him off. Something in you clenched hard seeing that; you felt nauseous, breathless, and enraged. It was a bit staggering, actually. You'd been mad, angry, pissed-off and surly at him, but _enraged_ and _for him_ were two things that had never happened before, let alone in conjuncture with each other. The feeling just went on and on, spiraling you down faster than a ~ATH script and farther than even the deepest depression fit you'd ever experienced.

You didn't even realize you were ready to tear something apart until a heavy hand landed on your head and abruptly dampened the psionic flow leaking out of you. The power was diminished, but not gone completely, and you lashed out wildly at the one holding you back. Throwing a pebble to stop a landslide might have been more effective than the grub-weak assault you managed to mount. It did burn some of your anger away, enough to appreciate the display of skill and control the other presented. The power you threw at him was absorbed, rippling through him the way a drop of water might rejoin a pond—there and gone. The hand on your head never twitched, nor did the grip smothering your abilities waver. It was only then that you realized he hadn't stripped you completely and left you helpless, choosing to merely incapacitate you instead. He was frowning at you now, though there was clearly an appreciative undertone. Since there was little else you could do and you were still so angry, you hissed at him.

"He is not yours."

There was a different type of possessive rumbling in his voice that instantly stopped yours. It wasn't the overt, territory-claiming sound of a matesprit, but the muted promise of strength and severity someone protecting a moirail would use. It knocked some sense into you, finally letting that enragement fall away. He removed his hand (but not the dampeners) and you looked at the bubble again.

It—_was not_ Karkat sitting there, looking alone, sad, and tired. It was what Karkat would look like if he survived to final maturation. The lines that made your KK blocky and square had stretched out in that other, made him lean and predatory. His skin was a solid charcoal except where it splintered into that vibrant red of his blood, consuming huge chunks of his forearms and hands as it streaked out. The hair is longer, falling in softer waves and obviously tugged that way by sturdy fingers repeatedly sweeping through it. The horns were different, too, now that you actually looked at them; bigger around, a little longer in length, even if they were still just as nubby. Confident in the fact this was most assuredly not Karkat, you relaxed, and so did the grip on your psionics.

That's when you actually heard your friend.

"_Sollux, you bulge-sucking, nook-fisting asswipe, you do __**not**__ get to die on me! I'm not letting you get out of server maintenance by playing a fucking martyrdom ploy. You hear me, you fucking lousy excuse for a pupated grub? I'm your leader __**and**__ your server player __**and**__ I am __**ordering you**__ to keep it together, shitstain! …Goddamn it, Sollux, don't leave me here with these idiots by myself. Don't die again and leave me with fuck all to do about it..._**Please**_…"_

The clenching feeling came back; hearing Karkat Vantas beg brought all that aggressive need you felt earlier into sharp focus. The realization of what that truly meant finally hit you: you pitied him, which seemed more than a little fucked up since the way you two tended to snipe at each other really probably should have lead you to black, not red. Or maybe it had been red all the time and the two of you were the one's fucked up about it, unable to respond to feelings of pity properly. Or maybe you were both just six and a half sweeps old and didn't have a goddamn clue what matespritship and kismesissitude really felt like.

As if your mind wasn't already trying to go in about a thousand other directions, what Karkat had said mixed with what the psionic across from you had said. "Wait. I'm not dead?"

"Neither of us are," he confirmed quietly, and finally looked away from you to the bubble. There was longing and a tired patience in his tone. "Not quite yet. We are both still too powerful to become simple ghosts. There are things we must still do."

That's when you finally took a good look at what he was doing. He was pouring his power into the bubble, the red and blue energy wrapping around the perimeter in smooth flashes of iridescence rather than the lightning crackle you're prone to producing. Carefully, you touched the outside too. It was solid, like it had been made from unblemished stone or metal. A slight push against the surface only served to rebound the energy expended and the slightest flare of psionic anything made it snap and sting. It was amazing. He had created a flawless barrier. He was protecting the bubble.

"I could not protect them in life, when they needed it the most," he had said, responding to the unasked question. "The least I can give them is a peaceful afterlife, where her Imperious Condescension and her new master cannot touch them. Where they will never suffer at the hands of another again."

That word thrummed through every nerve in your body: protect. In the background, you could hear that KK had given up swearing at that point for simply crying over your cooling almost-corpse. Absolutely weak and pathetic and there wasn't a single troll there who'd step up to the line and let him be that vulnerable. They were all too busy needing him to be the leader. The only one who could offer any sort of defense needed to be defended himself, mostly from himself. The realization that there was no one else rocked through you. You needed to go back.

"Impossible as you are," was the response, though there was a heavy pause afterward, like he was debating something more. "Though…between the two of us, there is perhaps enough life for one." That red-blue stare bore into you and you finally felt that tickling of fear you probably should have had all along. "I have lived for longer than someone of my blood should. Longer than almost any other. And I am tired. I have seen enough of Her destruction to know what is coming next, how it will tear through space and time. The tyranny that started all of this is coming again. If I give this last bit of myself to you, this haven will become vulnerable to that. Therefore you must protect this even as you are protecting him."

As eager as you were to do whatever to get back, you did honestly pause to consider what it would take to assume his position. "I can't do that," you finally admitted. "It's too finite. I'd just blow everything up."

"I would not be so cruel as to dump my burden upon you and leave you to flounder under it. We would both burn out with nothing to show for the effort. It will need to occur in stages as it is, so there will be plenty of time to teach you the control you require."

You put your hand on the bubble, trying to get a feel for it, and slowly let your power start to feed into it. "Then let's hope I'm good at bilocation on top of everything else."

He looked weary, but hopeful as his hand reached out to press against your chest. It was disconcerting how large that hand was—the sheer size alone could have snapped your neck nicely, no psionics needed. But that was a risk you were willing to take.

"This will hurt," he said, though it was rather pointless. You were both dedicated to this course of action.

"I've gotten kind of used to that."

"Indeed, you will."

There was no time to ponder the tense of that statement before what felt like lightning arced through your chest, consuming you in pain. You realized later it had actually been lightning pumped straight into you so that your blood pusher restarted. You felt awful, choking on blood, weak as a newly hatched wriggler, but alive with Karkat curled around you in a way that felt better than it probably should have. It was all worth that first kiss, and more than made up for the whole ordeal with all the ones that came after.

…As it turns out, bilocation is something you seem to excel at. It was a little strange, being conscious in two totally different locations at two completely different time frames with two entirely different sets of tasks being performed, but then again, you were rather built for doing exactly that. The only time you had serious trouble maintaining the duplicity was when you were still healing. At least at that point, he was still strong enough to keep you there. Now, you're almost to your destination in paradox space and he is barely a whisper in the cracked darkness. You've been maintaining the bubble for almost a complete sweep now as he helps adjust and fine-tune your work. Between what he's taught you and the hours you've spent practicing on the meteor, you're pretty sure you could give him a real fight if he wasn't already so drained. And you still haven't had your second psionic awakening.

It still startles you when his hand finally slips completely from the bubble's surface. The colour has faded from his eyes, leaving only the slightest hint of red and blue to them. Just enough power left to get him through to the otherside.

You're staring at each other again because you don't know what to say. There's nothing left to say; he's told you everything there is to tell about himself and so have you. You know he misses the ones he's so carefully shielded in this bubble, people he's searched for through endless amounts of space and time and guided here. He's built a world for them with little more than memory and strength of mind. He's made it his life to care for this tiny bit of reality because he had nothing else to live for. And that's what scares him now. For as much as he wants rest, peace, he can't forgive himself and therefore cannot conceive of the others forgiving him. His task is finally complete and now comes the point where everything he has done and gone through will either be validated or rendered pointless. For an existence that has been hanging upon this single act for so long, it's understandably terrifying.

It's also completely stupid. Maybe he's been taking it all in for too long to notice, but the other three that compose the core group in that bubble have very set routines that are pretty much dedicated to him. The fire is always tended, something he has remarked in passing was their way of guiding one of their own back. A vigil is kept by at least one of them at all time. The KK-lookalike is the one who spends the most time doing as such, but the Nepeta- and Kanaya-lookalikes take their own turns, more often than not actually looking to where you two stand just outside the border as if they can sense you there. As your energy overtook his in the holding of the shield, you would catch snippets of conversations, and there have been many reassurances that he would come to them when the time was right from all of them to each other.

"Take care of them," is what your mouth finally says for you. There's that soft smile you've come to know as affection from him. And the light touch of his hand on your hair is approval.

"I will," is his response. And then he's gone, just as suddenly as he had appeared. The energy under your control ripples, signaling his passing.

You wait a little bit before implementing your own addition to the shield. It feels a bit voyeuristic, but you're compelled to see what happens next. All three of them are actually sitting outside when your ancestor approaches them. They're obviously a bit surprised by his rather sudden arrival, which only seems to make him more self-conscious. It takes almost no time for them to overcome that shock as the Karkat-lookalike stands and nearly throws himself across the fire with a clearly elated, "Uath!"

"Duir." Seconds later, he's enveloped by the girls as well.

"It took you long enough!"

"We're so happy to see you finally came home."

You don't need to see anymore. It's enough to know he was welcomed. That even a story as long as his got to have a better ending than there might have otherwise been. You pull back and augment the shield so that the surface is no longer transparent. A dark opaqueness clouds the miniscule space between the bubble's actual surface and the shield, leaving it as dark as the space that surrounds you. You figure they deserve some time to themselves, away from even you. You settle into your new position as guardian with a contented sigh and then—

—and then Karkat's staring at you in worry, pawing at your face. You're crying. Worse yet, you don't know why, only that you need to. It takes a moment to get enough control that you move the correct set of arms before you pull him close, hiding in the front of his shirt because you can't seem to _stop_ crying now that you've started. He holds you, going through his whole fussing routine like you're suffering from a headache instead of whatever the hell this is.

"Captor, what the actual fuck?" he asks when you finally manage to calm down some and stop feeling less…less. All you can do to answer is shake your head and kiss him repeatedly, drinking in his warmth and realness.

You are Sollux Captor, and you met your ancestor once. You hope that someday, you have a chance of being as great as he was.

* * *

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite everything, touch is something you don't give or take well. Oh, you've got no issues hauling off and clobbering someone if they deserve it, and giving it twice for flinching. You smack Gamzee's shoulder regularly as a sign of affection, as normal as his spacey grin and a honk when the two of you are interacting. Curling your hand into a fist is always one of the first reactions to someone who's seriously pissing you off beyond the average level of aggravation and you have zero qualms about getting into someone's face and personal space and starting a fight if they push you too far. You're aggressive, even for a troll, and that all but ensures no one messes with you.

But that's not really touching; it's hitting, posturing, threatening. A carefully maintained façade that serves the sole and very specific purpose of keeping others far enough away from you that your unfortunate genetic disposition is less likely to be found out. Getting into a fight is fine because at least if you get found out there, you're still in a fucking fight and not just waiting around for the culling drones to find you on their list. You put up with that mentality for all of a perigree before getting sick of being afraid of your own shadow. No, what makes you uncomfortable is the hand on the head, the arm around the shoulders, the casual brushing of bodies, the leaning in without an overtone of intended bloodshed present.

There's a reason why you're as into romcom movies and novels as you are. Because it's been a safe way to explore a social interaction that others take for granted—a social interaction you've always been quite certain you'd never be involved in yourself. You never had a reason to believe you'd live to see final maturation. You never believed you'd find a matesprit or a kismesis since you weren't going be around for the time those instincts required one from you. You made yourself content with your slightly skewed moirallegence because while you'd fight every step towards the grave, a grave was exactly where you'd be sooner than later. And every time some other feeling tried to spring up, you shoved it ruthlessly back down, tore it apart, scoffed and debased and denied it.

You lucked out with your (mostly) gentle giant of a moirail. Gamzee's worked damn hard for the amount of physical affection you show him now, being able to bump shoulders with him or relax into his enveloping embrace. He's patiently put up with your boundary issues, pushing just hard enough that those once solid walls have cracked and now allow some movement, some form of flexibility. You won't say you're exactly comfortable with extended displays of affection, but he's worn you down enough that the little things no longer freak you out like they used to.

Then you went flushed for Sollux. Okay, admittedly, you'd probably been flushed for a while at that point, and it finished breaking you. He was dying in your arms. Everything was fucked up, mostly because of something you failed to accomplish, and you were literally two minutes away from throwing your hands in the air and giving up completely. In that time, he came back, made some smartass comment and everything just…switched on inside you. Words can't adequately describe the heat, the need, the _fucking force_ that comes with the recognition of a matesprit, though plenty of authors have tried. All the aggression you'd cultivated in your life suddenly focused on another purpose—protect him. He was bleeding, hurt, weak, and you were ready to kill every last soul on the meteor with a single-minded bloody purpose that would have left Gamzee's scare a fucking pleasant thought.

Needless to say, no one challenged you as you hauled Sollux to your part of the lab and tended all those wounds. Gamzee was kind enough to bring you food, though you barely ate, and troll you long enough to keep you from shredding the walls or yourself. You can only assume he made sure no one else came looking for you because they didn't. Sollux took his sweet time recovering, which in turn gave you plenty of time to panic. How could someone like you, who could barely stand to be touched by his moirail, ever come to grips with being touched in the even more intimate ways a matesprit would want to? You couldn't just deny that you'd kissed him (twice no less), or that you'd sequestered him for the duration of his healing, or that the thought of others near him was enough to make your growl reverberate through the empty hallways.

It probably wasn't fair to dump all that fear and unknowing in Sollux's lap that moment he finally woke up for good, but this was serious shit that needed to be addressed. You felt stupid and awkward having to tell him that you didn't know if you could stand his touch. You were pretty sure he was even going to make some sort of joke at your expense about it, too. He did at first, a reflex action to any serious conversation the two of you have ever had. Then he actually listened to you as you paced about furiously. And when you were finally done, he asked to touch you.

For weeks, he asked for permission to touch you, for little things that weren't outside the bounds of matespritship, but not exclusive to it either. By the time you made your formal declaration of flushed interest in one another, you could hold his hand for more than a minute. When Eridan solidified his position as the largest moronic douchrag on the rock, you could stand to be petted, held, and fussed at. And now, you can even hold him while he sleeps.

He doesn't ask for it out loud, just holds the blanket open for you. When you accept, his arm curls behind your back while yours supports his neck, bringing your bodies securely together. His other hand curls over your side while you stroke his hair. He falls asleep with his face pressed into your chest while you watch.

You are Karkat Vantas, and you never knew it could be this soothing to have another body so close to yours.

* * *

To be continued.


	3. Chapter 3

Karkat doesn't sleep. The closest he ever willingly comes close to sleep is a literal physiological crash, where his body simply refuses to function anymore and stops, regardless of where he is and what he's doing. It's literally the work of minutes, him being awake and snarling to functionally dead. Like a computer that's overheating, everything except autonomic functions cease working, leaving him in an unconscious state so deep and thick even Vriska can't dive in far enough to do anything. A couple hours later, his body will start rebooting. That alone is usually violent enough to jump him from down to up without incurring a wasteland dreamscape interlude. There's no resting involved, though, just a halt to physical activities.

Sometimes he's lucky. You notice how fast he's going downhill or Gamzee is around, doing whatever it is that makes him a good moirail. Either of you can get him tucked away safely, discourage the others from interfering. Sometimes he's not. You've had to save him a couple times from Vriska and Terezi, the later more often than the former because spider-bitch is only opportunistically vindictive, whereas her scourge sister seems to actively stalk KK, waiting for those few hours of absolute helplessness. Everyone else seems to be thankfully indifferent, though Kanaya will mention seeing him collapse and more than once, Nepeta has simply curled up with him.

Karkat doesn't sleep because apparently he still dreams outside the bubbles and his dream-self is even more self-hating and cruel than his waking-self could ever be, which is really saying something because this is fucking _Karkat Vantas_, number one innovator of insults and reach-around sarcasm for as long as you've known him. Always hanging around with something scathingly observant to say on any issue and thus aggravatingly self-righteous in the process of pointing it out. And maybe that's the problem—he's alone in his dreams, so all the venom that would otherwise be directed outward now focuses in. For as quickly as he can eviscerate someone else for doing something stupid, he shreds himself twice as fast and three times more. Literally in some cases. He wears that long sleeved shirt because his arms are covered in old claw marks from where he's hugged himself, looking for some sort of comfort against his own incrimination, and dug his fingers in. You've gathered quite a few yourself trying to give that comfort.

The biggest issue is that waking doesn't ease the distress. In a lot of ways, it makes it worse. The few times he has fallen asleep in your presence have set up a somewhat predictable chain of events. It starts as a whine accompanying an increasingly labored breathing that can go on for several minutes. He always starts crying just before snapping back awake—that usually marks the end of the initial downswing. Waking with the evidence of his "hideous, throwback, traitorous" blood colour on his face is almost as panic-inducing as the fact he was crying in the first place. He's nearly stopped fighting you about it, but the initial reaction he's trained himself into hasn't abated that much. Sometimes, you can hold him and trill and he'll calm down. About half the time, though, having yellow blood under his nails only makes it worse. Once the innate fear subsides, the castigation starts again, so loud in his head you're surprised everyone else can't hear it, too.

He'll even back out after a while, faster sometimes if he's got something or someone to latch onto. You swear Gamzee starts acting up just so that KK can focus on shoosh-papping instead of bile-spewing. You're not particularly fond of this plan, considering that a failure in it would not only leave the juggalo edging quickly back towards madness, but also completely wreck Karkat for not being able to stop it. It's unfortunately one of the few things that works well enough that you're not willing to interfere yet. Moirallegience is just, if not sometimes more, important than matespritship. There's a reason that quadrant gets filled first and usually stays filled the longest. You can protect him, satisfy him, keep him fed, sheltered, and warm, and that's also exactly why you can't deal with his emotional problems. Because your instinct is to rip apart whatever's harming him, to take him away and hide until it passes or dies. Especially since Karkat's hurting himself and you wouldn't be able do much more than stew in your own impotency anyway. So having someone who can take in those surplus feels and let them wash away is a good thing.

You just wish that person wasn't the psycho-in-waiting that Gamzee happens to be. Then again, you don't trust Karkat with any of the psychos on this hunk of rock, so it's probably just your flush talking instead of real worry.

It's probably also why it's so insanely satisfying to know you're the only reason he gets anything close to rest. Because when he's purring under you, or over you, or however the hell he's positioned around you, you know there's nothing else in his mind. Nothing except your mutual flush, somehow redder than his blood or your psionics. That's when the tension lessens, when he stops breaking down, when all the weight and responsibilities and guilt he's heaped on his head (or had helpfully shoveled there by some other asshole) stop being terrible burdens and he can just _be, _which is more than he seems to get just about anywhere else.

Karkat doesn't sleep, and that's kind of okay because that insomniac-driven snark and bitchiness is what has kept him safe all those years when blood colour was still a reason for an early death. It lets him function well as a leader, because he's always there, able to take on a problem almost the moment it become a problem. It's the primary reason the two of you ever started talking in the first place. His biggest weakness is really his greatest asset.

You are Sollux Captor, and is it any wonder at all as to why you pity the ever-living fuck out of your wonderfully backwards matesprit?

* * *

To be continued.


	4. Chapter 4

One of the nicest things about being this deep in paradox space is that all light is artificial. Being the naturally nocturnal creatures trolls are supposed to be, that makes it easier to stay up because there's no triggers for sunrise, nothing to convince even the most damaged think-pan that a cycle was done and thus prepare the rest of the body for shutdown. It means shit can get done when it needs to be done because someone (usually you) is awake to take care of it. Yes, it does mean that the general whining-surliness of everyone skyrockets exponentially and you can't quite tell how long you've been enduring the hell that is being stuck on a small as fuck rock with eleven other dysfunctional assholes (now upgraded to shit-storm central with all the damn dream bubbles floating about and Dave-_motherfucking_-Strider doing his damnedest to piss off everyone). So there is a definite downside.

But it also means that when one of his headaches hits, you can take Sollux somewhere quiet and dark and remain there for as long as you need to.

Every time you hear that pain-aggravated sigh, you wonder what shit for brains god decided to force something like psionics onto someone as low in the hemospectrum as a yellow-blood and call it a good idea. Yeah, Tavros is lower and he's got no problems with his little beast affinity, but that's what it is—little and relatively passive for a psychopower. He doesn't bend the things to his will, so he isn't exerting a ton of his nonexistent determination to get results. It's just encouraging natural traits to run along with his desires. Aradia doesn't count since she's been dead most of the time, and Vriska's high enough on the spectrum that her body can deal with the stress that comes from forcing others into absolute submission. She's rather designed for the kind of abuse she so likes to hand out, which is probably just as well. Maybe manipulating someone else completely manifests as something other than physical damage for her (which would explain a lot about her fucked up personality), or she's at least sparing enough with her telepathy that she can heal decently in the mean time (though you really doubt that).

Sollux doesn't get that. What he gets is instinctual, active, and constant. He doesn't have to concentrate to use his powers, he has to concentrate so that they don't fucking _spill over into everything else_ when he does use them. You once bitingly compared them to water overfilling a glass and he has never said anything to correct you. You've come to learn the manifestations aren't always in ways that can be seen unless you know what you're looking for, but he is constantly leaking the mental energy. It's why the mind honey was always so bad, because that leak would suddenly turn into a full deluge with no control or direction. All of this has lead to the fortunate side effect of him being able to do many small things at once without seriously damaging himself, and larger things with less of a cost (which was apparently the difference between surviving his toss across the furthest outreaches and not). The mild draining actually does him good, keeping him from becoming a container too full and causing more problems he doesn't need, but sometimes, that's still not enough. And it frustrates you to no end.

You're used to the onsets and outcomes because you've been doing this for almost as long as you've been friends, never mind matesprits. The latter condition just means you're more likely to snarl at someone else and fuss at him. It was easier to deal with before, too, because you could just dump Sollux's skinny ass into the recupracoon, let the sopor do its job of relaxing, and that'd be that. Two days in the slime of his choice and all that would be left was the hunger from his body burning too much energy at once. But the shit you guys can alchemize does almost less than nothing and most of that is given to Gamzee so that on the occasions where you have to be tending something slightly more critical than his manic bullshit, you actually can.

So it's the darkest corner in the quietest section of the labs on a pile you've both slowly built up. If you're quick enough with uptake, then he's still with it enough to walk there himself, shaking hands clamped onto your shoulders because he doesn't dare open his mismatched eyes even in the absolute dark. Except it's not really completely dark because his short-circuiting powers are lighting up the immediate area around you enough that you can navigate your way around all the random shit laying about. Sometimes you're not and you end up carrying him on your back all the way there, which is such a pain since he's that much taller than you right now, but it's manageable. The pile itself is made of the all the soft things you can find, trying to imitate that slightly weightless feeling of being suspended by the sopor slime. He still chooses to rest his aching head on your thigh. Because, you know, that's so much more comfortable than all the other shit you've gathered for the purpose. You cluck at him for being an idiot mostly out of habit and for the first time since the damn headache set in, he chuckles back at you, returning your loving venom with random static-y sparks.

Your hand's going to be numb by the time this is all said and done, but you gently rub at his horns anyway, letting the stray energy dance around your fingertips. "Go back to sleep, grubmunch. You're fucking useless like this."

Another weary chuckle floats up from your lap. "Love you too, KK."

You are Karkat Vantas, and even though these instances are as annoying as fuck to deal with, you're very quietly glad they happen because it means you can be the sappy redrom person you want to be without any witnesses to call you on it.

* * *

To be continued.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm such a dumbass sometimes. I meant to post chapter 4 a while ago and somehow managed to convince myself I had without actually doing as such. So, here's a two-fer this time around.

~Tawnya

* * *

KK thinks it's stupid, but the fact that lowbloods are gifted (and even you will use the term loosely) with these extra powers is something of an evolutionary necessity. The average lifespan of someone becomes shorter the further one falls down the hemospectrum. That's just a fact. The changes are small, but as you climb the colour range, the body type and conditioning change. It's a good thing Eridan keeps trying to fight you using weapons because he'd totally kick your ass in a tradition brawl, not that his finer highblooded senses would ever let him get into a fistfight with someone like you. The whole of his body is denser, and if you tried to punch him with physical power alone, your hand would most likely break on his jaw. FF's tiny compared to you, but she's designed to deal with the pressure of the deep ocean. If you didn't have the telekinesis, you wouldn't be able to lift her at all. Your caste was designated to be beasts of burden for all intents and purposes, yet your bodies are infinitely frailer than your highblooded counterparts because of the environs you're raised in. Developing some sort of mental power to compensate for the lack of physicality that comes from being lightly green or lower was the only practical way to survive for longer than a couple sweeps.

(To that point, Vriska's just weird. It might be a throwback in her genetics, since everyone comes from the same slurry as everyone else, but Aradia always thought it had more to do with her one eye being as abnormal as it is. The Vision Eightfold is technically a psionic power, a more intricate version of your Vision Twofold, but it doesn't really get to be qualified as one. For starters, it's a special ability she and only she seems to have, not a bloodline trait that extends to everyone in her caste. Then there's the eye itself—take that away and the power becomes functionally useless. It also somewhat explains her telepathy, which despite being strong because her will is unyielding and her confidence knows few boundaries, is incredibly hard for her to maintain and pretty unrefined in its execution. Basically all she does is bear down on her target's will until it collapses under her, then she puppeteers the body from there. Being of sufficient rank above most of her victims, it's never been an issue for her to do as such, though you wonder how well she'd do against someone closer to her colour, or a fully trained and functioning psionic. Probably not very well, which is a comfortingly vindictive thought.

Because one day, you're going to show her what it feels like to be a broken doll.)

Almost all lowbloods that develop any sort of psionic manifestation (and most do, but not all) will develop one particularly strong talent shortly after pupation and then slowly gain several off-shooting, less powerful manifestations that may or may not remain after their second 'awakening' shortly before full maturation.

Being in the lowest caste, and thus the one most likely to develop such skills, Aradia actually had a couple different powers. The most stable and developed one was a special type of hyperkinesis, manifesting as something more along the lines of a telekinesis, which allowed her to cut and throw objects under a certain size with great speed and accuracy. It kept her awake a lot, having to move so much. It's why she took to the archeology the way she did; physically digging into the ground helped burn up the excess energy that liked to inhabit her limbs as a result of the speed her mind would race. Incidentally, that's probably also what kick-started her psychometry that then matured into a more stable type of clairsentience, if not also her post-mortem telepathics.

Tavros seems to be pretty strictly limited to animal-based telepathics himself. It's really more like an affinity than any actual mind connecting to another mind type of action, but considering he could control large bands of the imps and so forth during your game session, you know it's also not something as simple as an extreme case of tele-empathy. The line's a little blurred there, though, so it's hard to tell. He doesn't seem to put a lot of himself behind what he's doing, which means a case could be made going either way.

And then there's lucky you, who hit the metaphorical jackpot with primary talents: psychokinesis, transvection, physio-psychic manifestations of several varieties and even a touch of telepathics, just to keep things interesting. You've had them all since you pupated, slowly leaking out of your head no matter what kind of block you try to put up and interfering with your life. It's not the possession of psionic abilities that ruins your body on such a grand scale, but the possessing so many types. It wears at you, having to constantly fight against yourself for even some of the simplest tasks. It leaves you mentally thin, strung out, perpetually hungry and almost nothing more than skin and bones because all that power has to be fueled somehow. It's the internal ramblings in everyone else's head pushing into yours, never stopping or fading even when you're completely alone. The knowing of what will happen if you don't keep a tight enough grip on your abilities and that pressure always hovering in the background. You're always exhausted, always feel like you're one step away from saying fuck it and letting the world burn around you.

But for as tiring as they are to keep up with, as much as you have wished in the past to just carve out that part of your think-pan, you won't let them go now. Not when you've seen what they can lead you to, what you can become if you learn to use them correctly, and what you'll be saving by making these abilities obey your absolute command. So that there isn't another sufferer paying the price for a new world with his blood.

You are Sollux Captor, and for the first time since your powers started to manifest, you don't feel like they're just a burden you have to bear, but like they're the weapons that will allow you to do what no one has done before.

* * *

To be continued.


	6. Chapter 6

To put it nicely, meeting Mituna Captor scared the Jesus-fuck right out of you.

Meenah's all too eager to harass someone and Aranea likes to be helpful to the point of suffocation, so it wasn't hard to figure out what happened to him even from what little they knew. Hell, you lived through something probably more horribly similar than you really want to consider. Trying to outrun certain death kinda has a way of making someone give their all. And being several sweeps older, that means Mituna might have already gone through his second psionic augmentation before trying to fend off whatever. It would have left him strong enough to certainly live through the experience while Sollux, being just that much younger, had nearly ruptured every vital system in his body doing the exact same. So the fact that Mituna suffered from some pretty severe psychological trauma isn't that surprising.

What creeped you right the fuck out was that no matter what the ravings were like, what side of the spectrum he'd fallen into, what wires had crossed or uncrossed at that particular moment, coherent or not, he always falls silent and still whenever you're near.

Not that you go out of your way to be near him. You don't go out of your way to be near anyone in those fucking bubbles because there's a lot of shit you really just don't want to face, and you certainly as hell don't want a goddamn audience when you start fighting (read: get pummeled by) the ghosts buried in your subconscious. Most of the time, the viewing is from a distance—mostly you covertly watching Latula gently help swing her matesprit back around to a softer, quieter sense of self and trying to take notes on what seems to works and what doesn't. It's not a possibility you like to spend a lot of time thinking about, but that could be you and Sollux one day in the indeterminate future. It already feels like you're barely handling his less taxing breakdowns, so it's helpful and somewhat comforting to see someone else going through something similar. Yet if you watch for too long, he notices you, and you get to abscond the hell out of there because the last thing you want is someone catching you spying on a flushed moment between dedicated mates. There's easier ways to get someone to kill you.

Usually when your hunk of rock runs headlong into a bubble, Sollux doesn't come through with any of the rest of you. He once gave you a half-answer, something about already being in two locations at once and testing himself against outside interference, but for whatever reason, he crosses over with you this time. He helps you steady out as the feeling of moving without moving washes over the area and reality twists around you. It's actually pretty annoying to see he isn't suffering with any of the vertigo you're experiencing. You barely get over that shock before suddenly, Mituna's there too, and he and Sollux instantly square up against one another. There's silence for a minute before it dawns on you that while their positioning and posture could be construed as threatening, there's no growling or other territorial warnings sounding. They're just staring at each other. Another minute passes before you realize they're _talking_ through the psionics. Except, Mituna shouldn't have any powers left since he supposedly burned them out…

At length, the older psionic takes off his helmet. His hair's grown long enough that it falls into his eyes, so you can't see them, but it's very obvious he's looking at you. He chews on his lip with those still too large fangs for a moment before haltingly grating out, "Thank…you." He twitches, hands reflexively clutching at the helmet, choking a bit on his next words. "I…I…" His teeth gnash, and a harsh buzzing sound electrifies the air, skittering along your skin and filling the silence.

"Hey," you respond without thinking. It's really not your place to do anything about this, but damned if this is something you can just ignore. Whatever it is that he's attempting to say is obviously hard on him, but he's sincerely still trying to stay coherent, which tells you something about what this means to him. So you touch Sollux's shoulder to let him know it's okay, then reach for Mituna. The moment your hand lands on his, the tremors subside a bit and he calms down some. "Hey, it's okay. I don't get it, but you're welcome."

He looks clearly relieved when he smiles at you, broad and innocent as a grub. "I," he repeats. "I didn't get…before…" He clicks his teeth in agitation again. "Kankrr—asshat…should learn…you know." He's losing it fast, which frustrates him and makes it even harder to hang on. "I…I can't…thank you." His speech fails completely at that point, but he gives Sollux one hell of a stare before the helmet is replaced on his head and he stumbles away, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Sollux explains later that apparently being the Heir of Doom left him with a choice he has come to regret. Your very presence, however, gives him hope that said decision wasn't completely in vain and he needed to thank you for lifting that weight from his mental shoulders. Sollux also explains that Minuta's psionic abilities never actually went away, that they can't really since they're part of their base genetic code. He's just lost contact with them since his brain rewired itself. It's working itself out, slowly but surely.

Your mate then assures you repeatedly that he himself is not in danger of having that happen to him ever again, which is not very reassuring at all. Neither is the fact that he seems intensely pleased with their meeting, like something he's known for a long time has finally become confirmed.

You are Karkat Vantas, and you've recently concluded all psionic yellowbloods are simply fucking crazy.

* * *

To be continued.


	7. Chapter 7

As a general rule, you don't mess with many of the dream bubbles. Bilocation is one thing, but splitting yourself much more is a fast track to a mental breakdown, which is something you cannot afford. When you "sleep" in Karkat's arms, you're fully awake with your ancestor, learning whatever he is willing to teach you at the time. When you're "awake" on the meteor, you're still there on the far side of the universe, but in a less active roll. You can actively be in both places, but there's a couple logistical things, like moving the correct arm and finishing sentences to the correct people, that tend to get in the way of doing so on a more permanent basis. It's mostly a practice thing and you've got plenty of time for that…so long as you observe your limits

Like all things, though, there are exceptions. Aradia is the major case. You can still hear the dead, which in and of itself almost negates any reason you'd have to travel into a dream bubble, and that alerts you when she's close. The little side-step in reality to see her is relatively easy because she's a God Tier and therefore she can meet you halfway. You usually end up somewhere between both your memories, taking in sights that no longer exist, talking until the distance becomes too great to remain together anymore. She tells you about all the ghost war effort that's going on while combing her fingers through your hair and you give her the update on the group shenanigans while brushing out her's. That mostly consists of "_and then KK did this_" type monologues that she takes in gracious stride. It embarrasses you to no end when you catch yourself doing it, but she only laughs and smiles and kisses you on the forehead, telling you your flush is supposed to make you stupidly happy.

Sometimes, you get called to a bubble. You know from KK that the majority of interactions in these things are done with the group of trolls who came before your session, from the ever aptly named Beforus (and you agree with your mate, that makes your brain hurt in a special little spot just above your left temple). That means you know their group has a psionic as well as the fact that something dramatic happened to him. What happened exactly is horribly vague, but considering the level of screwed up the transmissions are like, you can rather guess. This semi-ancestor has called to you several times, but you don't actually get a chance to go through until later, until you've got enough control to take a full step out of yourself and into the bubble. It helps that you're with Karkat at the time, which gives you someone to ground yourself to during the transition. The unfortunate result is that you drag him along with you to the meeting.

If meeting the original Psiionic was supposed to be scary, meeting Mituna should have been sobering. But like then, what you manage to feel first is instead a deep respect for what he's accomplished and no small amount of awe for still standing as tall as he does.

You of all people shouldn't be able to see it the way you do, but you do, how things are burned out, inflamed and hurting, still scaring over in his mind. He's a wreck mentally, like someone reached into his think-pan and dumped everything he'd ever known or thought into a single pile he now has to sort through in order to get anywhere. He's a hell of a lot better off now than he probably was initially. There are little pieces he was able to save—his flush for his matesprit, his skills with games and puzzles, other miscellanea you purposefully don't look closely at despite his rather blatant invitation to do as such. He's making some inroads into reorganizing; you can see the shaky structures he's building off the more stable ones. There's still too much he's trying to deal with all at once and no filter between any of it, leaving him to the whims of his own stream of consciousness.

That's when the sober feelings kick in, while Mituna is struggling to talk to Karkat, to thank your mate for something he himself isn't certain about, can barely remember or identify for that matter. The need is strong enough in him that he struggles forward anyway, but the deeper he digs into that pile of knowledge, the less he seems to remember what he's looking for and why he should find it. You start a bit when KK touches you, a soft gesture he's developed so that you can keep that possessive streak of yours in check, and then he reaches for Mituna. It's a simple thing, really, one hand resting on another in a gesture of comfort; words that express more than the simple gratitude they spell out. They're things that you've seen KK do a hundred thousand times over, silly, simple things that completely change everything about the way Mituna is responding. His mental state clears and for just a second, you can see how it all could have turned out differently. The thing that made your session a success where your semi-ancestor's failed is all because of Karkat and that never-ending empathy of his.

That clarity doesn't last long, crumbling back in on itself almost as soon as it appears. In fact, Mituna seems to degrade even faster for having come so close to true lucidity. He gets enough words out to make it close to what he actually wants to express before it all comes crashing down, dragging down some of those loose structures he's been creating as well. It's not all destruction, though. There's a new, bright shining point located in some of that burned area that will become a solid anchor in time. It's from there that you receive your final message, loud and clear and with all the power that he once wielded.

_Do not let him go. Protect him with everything you have. Let nothing stand in your way._

You are Sollux Captor, and you don't need anyone else to tell you that you made the right choice in coming back, but it's nice to have the confirmation anyway.

* * *

To be continued.


	8. Chapter 8

If there's one good thing to come out of flying through so many damn dream bubbles, it's that you start to appreciate how right everything went for you. With the exception of Kankri, who doesn't really count because he's technically an ancestor and not a true alternate self (thank _god_), you haven't run into too many dead versions of yourself. Not that you particularly care to change that, because the one you met who had made God tier was an unbelievable asshole and the other two, who managed to find each other first, had started arguing over who was the bigger fuck up. It was so bad that you actually missed the good old days where you could just ban yourself from the memo instead of having to listen to all their bullshit.

There's too many animated corpses of Sollux for your liking, though. Granted, the dipshit can die like four more times than anyone else before it becomes something of a permanent thing, so there's always two or three of them hanging around any given bubble. But considering how many times he _has_ died under your watch, it's an uncomfortable reminder of how easily any one of those times could have been his last. This fact is only made worse by the knowledge that there was practically nothing you could have done to save him anyway. You can't tell what's worse about these encounters: knowing he's died so many times over the course of so many failed timelines or the remnants of each death the bodies now carry.

The thing that really twists the proverbial knife is that with few exceptions, every dead Sollux you've met is happy being that way. _"No more voices, KK. No more headaches."_ They smile, and they laugh, and there's just this lightness around them that you sometimes get to see in your Sollux, but never like this. This is beyond even the best of his good days. You always knew he had it bad—you'd lost track of the number of nights you'd spent carefully poking and jabbing him back into a suitable shape after Aradia died because whatever haunted him had become too much. Your pity for him has always run deep because of it.

It just never occurred to you that maybe letting him die would have been the better thing for him.

Which means, of course, that you're a total douchenozzle because _you_ were the one clinging and crying over his failing body like a spoiled wriggler when he hurled everyone though paradox space. _You _begged and pleaded and sobbed because it wasn't fair that the person who was saving everyone's asses wasn't going to be there later to rub it in. _You _didn't want to live in a new world where he wasn't there to troll you. It was all about _you_, not him, unacknowledged flushed feelings or not.

You never know whether you should go find him after space returns to normal to reassure yourself he's fine, or if you should just throw yourself off the meteor because you're obviously the worst matesprit there ever was. You usually just hide until you can face him without breaking down in tears.

"You're worrying about stupid shit again," Sollux sighs when he finds you after a particularly horrific encounter finally ends. It's hard not see the phantom blood everywhere, and fuck if that Sollux hadn't hated your guts on top of everything else, too. So you settle for flipping him off, which does jack shit and he sits down next to you anyway. Everything's quiet for a while, then he slings an arm over your shoulders. "I had a choice in the matter, KK. I chose to come back."

"And what the Jesus fuck makes you think I'm worrying over something asinine like that?" You try putting some snap in your voice, but you still only sound petulant.

"Because I have ears, eyes, and a functioning think-pan. And even if that wasn't enough to comprehend your idiocy, you're pretty much screaming it in my head, so give me a little credit, okay?"

Right. Psionics. Fuck.

He sighs again in your ear, rubbing a horn against yours. "Look, asshole. My head hurts enough from that last visit to the otherside without your raging self-incrimination festival adding to it. So listen up. Those other mes? They're morons for letting this get away from them."

And then he's kissing you so hard, you both fall over. Not just a kiss either. Your skin lights up as that psionic energy runs across everything that his hands aren't touching. He's pushing you down, crawling over you, and growling low in his throat in that possessive manner that makes it really hard for you to do much else except trill your acceptance of that possession in return. When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard, but satisfied. There's another surge of those psionic powers, and for just a split second, you can see yourself as he sees you.

"They're losers who don't deserve the time of night from you," he repeats, voice rough, before settling his head over your blood pusher. "Now quit fussing over them and focus on the one who actually figured it out in time to do something about it."

That last bubble must have taken a lot of out him because Sollux is asleep within minutes of settling. The floor's cold against your back, but he's warm on top of you, and somehow that evens everything out, leaving you content to just lay there with him, remembering that one second you shared.

You are Karkat Vantas, and it blows your mind a little bit that your mate is the one who considers himself lucky to have you.

* * *

To be continued.


	9. Chapter 9

One of the most pitiable things about Karkat is the way he uses anger to cover everything else up. Stubbed a toe on the miscellanea strewn everywhere? Anger. Not getting anywhere in his (admittedly improving) coding? More anger. Preferred method for dealing with a group of self-absorbed, teeteringly-homicidal, bored-out-of-their-minds adolescent trolls? Vein-popping amounts of rage and out-shouting every single one of the assholes (including you) back into compliance with your shaky-as-all-hell plan of attack. It was probably the most comforting thing to come out of the mess that was your game session, and then the human's session, too: You can always count on KK to meet whatever challenge needs to be faced with enough seething hate to boil the problem right out of existence. His anger is infectious, spurning, and most importantly, an effective tool to push people in the right direction when they need it the most. It never matters if it's a sincere attempt on his part to either bully someone into submission or to get them off their asses, or if it's just a side effect from him being stressed about something completely unrelated; it works exactly the way it needs too. He makes a damn good leader because of it. It makes him stable; constant in a way none of the rest of you could ever hope to be in a situation that changes faster the Vriska's luck.

It was probably also a bigger lie than the weak excuses he's used to cover his blood colour.

You wonder if all signs that bear such stark symmetry have issues with this type of duplicity. Yours is the most obvious because that's what it means in the first place, and then you got it twice over. But then there's Eridan, who switches between arrogant and insecure at the drop of a past participle. Feferi's a little less obvious because of her overwhelming enthusiasm for everything, and that just makes her anger all the more vehement. Terezi's also pretty unique with her _I-can-but-can't-see_ shtick and Tavros's insecure nature gets paired up with his absolute enthusiasm (read: lack of fear) around animals. It might have taken dying and resurrecting for that opposite polarity to really kick in, but even Aradia has it, quiet and subdued most of the time, yet aggressive and relentless in the face of what she believes.

Karkat's symbol doesn't actually have any sort of symmetry, though. It's a flipped mirrored image. There's no axis of reproduction even though the content is self-replicating. On the one side, you have Angry KK, the bright spitfire who's waged a one-troll war against the universe. Your loud and obnoxious correct leader who, for better or worse, has managed the nigh impossible by getting all of you to work together in a mostly harmonious manner—something even his Ancestor never truly managed. It's the contemptible brashness he's met the world with because the alternative was an early death, and trolls are nothing if not stubborn about their continuing lifespans. A simple reflection would have left you with a Happy KK, and while he definitely has his happy moments, it's not an overwhelming factor in his outlook on life. It couldn't ever be. Not with the imminent threat of culling always looming over his head the way it still sometimes does. Not with the constant pressure to make sure his genetic disposition remained unknown and the all encompassing fear that stemmed not from "_what if_" someone discovered him, but "_when"_ they discovered him. So there's another flip on a second axis, and happy turns to sad.

He's crafted a very solid and cunning shield. It's hidden well under that shouting grey text, the full volume discourses, and those stark-raving, yet precisely calibrated insults he almost casually throws around. But to anyone who actually knows better, Karkat is sad, and lonely, and so terribly afraid to be something _more_ that he clings to his anger with all the tenacity of a wriggler to his lusus in full battle mode. He runs so hot that it's almost impossible to imagine that there's ever a cold to go with it, to temper or balance all the violence he holds against himself for being so different. For caring about what happens to others, quadrants or not. For thinking that he's not the person he tries to present himself as. For taking on a responsibility he's constantly assured he's failed at. Never mind everything he _has_ managed to accomplish, the short-sighted idiot. He just pushes and pushes, until the anger is brighter than his blood, until there can be nothing left except rage.

Such explosive, powerful, venomous wrath shouldn't be so fragile, however. His fury is devastating, yet unsound; a flash-bang theatric to distract and disguise the fact that there's so much more going on in the background. The right barb, a careless push, an unforeseeable turn of events is all it takes for that brilliant fire in him to burn out. You've watched it happen, how the light just disappears from his eyes as that spring-trap of fear snaps closed around him. That's when the shield really serves its purpose, because that dimming is the only sign that whatever happening has touched a very raw nerve.

It will never break in front of the others, barely breaks for you or Gamzee in the first place. Someone almost always has to find him after the fact before he'll admit to whatever's bothering him. And breaking takes everything from him, leaves him completely bereft of anything other than his sorrow. There's no in-between for him to fall through, nothing to catch himself upon or any mid-levels to how he feels. It's just him, falling head first into an ocean of remorse and self-loathing.

You are Sollux Captor, and you wish you could get through your matesprit's dense head that you know it's hard, that you do understand, and that you'll hold and hide him for as long as it takes to get that bright fire burning again.

* * *

To be continued.


	10. Chapter 10

Sollux really is as dual natured as his symbol implies, but not in the manner most people like to associate with him. Despite how many things turn up in pairs for him (name, teeth, horns, tongue, and fuck you for asking about his bulge), the one thing no one seems to notice is that they all come from the same place. It isn't two completely individual items, but a careful bifurcation of a single source. There's only one place from which both completely opposite and/or contradictory responses arise. It's kind of dumb (who the hell are you kidding; it's fucking ridiculous) how many people think it's an all or nothing set of circumstances. He's either manic or depressed. An asshole or a sweet-heart. A push-over or a force of goddamn nature. They liken it to a switch that can turn one trait on while turning the opposite off. Worse yet, they seem to think _you_ are the stable one in this relationship and that you have some sort of control over wherever he happens to be at the moment.

But, because you were one of the few friends that could handle the bipolar nature when you didn't understand what the hell was really going on, you always knew the answer wasn't as simple as their inane switch theory. And it's not. It's actually simpler—Sollux exists in both states at all time.

In programming terms, he's an and-statement, not an either/or-statement. If given a yes/no question without any other options, he would be able to honestly answer both ways because both answers would be true for him. The way he responds to any given situation is based solely upon one hell of an algorithm he's got hardwired into his system that makes perfect sense to him and damn little to anyone else. It takes everything from personal experience, to learned information, to how he feels about the person asking, how he feels personally at that moment, how well one answer might be taken over another and does he want to deal with the fall out and is it going to fucking rain later and about a thousand other constantly shrinking or expanding parameters and _from there_, judges the appropriate answer for the particular situation directly in front of him. Given that any and all of those criterion can change the next time he's asked the exact same question, thus giving a completely different answer than before, other people's assumptions don't appear to be all that wrong. It only gets worse when the answer pool multiplies.

TL;DR version: He thinks waaaaay too fucking much.

For most people, they can tune their thoughts out, stop thinking, be pleasantly distracted by whatever bullshit lets them do exactly that. For Sollux, his brain never shuts up, never stops, never yields in its quest to just _do something_. To that end, maybe it's a good thing he has the psionic powers because it gives him something sufficient to focus upon—he can't just space out about what going on around him or they'll run amok. The same is true for his coding; it gives his attention something to actively create, mold, fix, run, repair, or tear apart. He's at his best when he's trying to multitask a dozen unrelated things.

That's his "manic" stage, when his focus comes down from the twelve separate things he's working on to just two or three, making him exceptionally intense, relentless, and unbelievably fast. Being "depressed" means he either can't find or maintain that focus, so he's listlessly going from one thing to the next, trying to find something, _anything_, that will help take up the extra space in his mind. He's an "asshole" and a "sweet-heart" because he can run mental circles around whoever is asking and whatever problem is given to him. He caves to most of the girls because they go away after they get what they want, so it's easier to just give in and do it the first time. It's not the mental powers that make him a force of nature, but the sheer stubborn strength of will it takes for him to use them as effectively as he does, despite the frailty of his body under that kind of duress.

There's still the personality swing to take into account, too, a slow pendulum action that takes his base emotional state through the extreme opposites he encompasses and back again. Things can help push the arc in one direction or another, but for the most part, the progression is steady and consistent when nothing else can be. And there are thousands of little stages in between that never seem to get accounted for either. He doesn't just get slung back and forth between emotions; it builds up and it breaks down, one piece at a time to create a total cumulative effect for his mood. Being unable to scavenge the components he wants for his next project will make him growl in agitation, yet he still sighs with contentment when you lean into him. The programs can be working perfectly, but he'll still get all kinds of pissed off because there's this one section that isn't working the way he thinks it needs to. You like to think that when he's curled up and asleep against you is the only time his happiness doesn't have any other qualifier attached to it.

The sad thing is, he's pretty straight forward once you get used to the whole "both at once" contradiction. When he can find the balance between the opposing sides, he's actually pretty stable. Which isn't the same thing as being predictable, and that's what you think really screws up most other people's understanding. He's not conventional because the values are always changing, always updating, evolving and devolving at a rate that frankly leaves everyone else in the dust, including you.

You are Karkat Vantas, and though you'll never admit it out loud, the one thing that scares you the most about being matesprit to Sollux is the knowledge that someday, he's bound leave you behind in more ways than just programming.


	11. Chapter 11

Everyone on the meteor knows that you and KK are hardcore flushed for each other and have been since you nearly died _again _throwing what was left of your world across paradox space. In a fit of "Oh my god, how the hell are we still fucking alive?" the two of you managed to pull off one of the shitty romcom plots your matesprit loves so dearly. You know, the one where someone has to become a corpse to figure out their feelings, gets a second chance to confess but it's all awkward as hell until they ride off into the sunrise. You both kinda stared at each other before he went and kissed you, then apologized about it until you kissed back and damned if you two almost didn't have your first pailing experience in front of a goddamn audience (never mind neither of you could actually go that far if you had wanted to). After everything calmed down and there was no longer imminent danger of a corpse festival, you both then took it a step further by making a formal announcement. Because ten other trolls and now two humans live practically on top of each other and first-flush matesprits tend to be even more territorial than those who've been in established red relationships before or for a while.

Knowing all that, it still came as something of a shock that Eridan would be stupid enough to challenge you when Karkat was standing not three feet away.

Things might have turned out differently if the two of you actually ran black for one another. But his hate stems from jealousy and you frankly don't give a flying fuck beyond enjoying being able to piss him off every now and again. If he'd actually taken a moment to think the whole thing through, he would have realized that with Karkat already rapidly swelling your heart to rupture and Aradia still floating regularly through the dream bubbles you do interact with, the most Feferi could ever become was a friend who could be talked to, but not anyone close enough to become even legitimate moirails with. If he had swallowed his pride and _asked_ instead of _assumed_, he'd know that the three of you are actually in a pretty stable ashen relationship, for as stable as those ever are. FF still likes ED, which you think is pretty big of her considering why their moirallegence fell apart in the first place, and she uses you as a block so that those still relatively strong pale feelings don't turn black further. She doesn't _want_ to hate him, and that's something Eridan just doesn't seem to comprehend.

You're so used to his blustering that you don't even really pay attention when he comes in, ready to try and have it out with you. You ignore him because you're working on getting the systems back up and running so that there's _something_ to do while you wait out the forever it's going to take to reach this new session. That, and because you know it will tick him off even more if he doesn't have your full, undivided attention. But his harping scrapes at you a little more today than it did the day before. You really are trying to concentrate here. So you turn around to tell him to fuck off and that's when an unstoppable force runs headlong into an immoveable object. You and Eridan are face to face with KK close enough to be in your field of vision, but not actually between you both yet. Your matesprit looks as pissed off for the interruption as you are, but Eridan only seems thrilled to finally have your attention, saying something labouriously triumphant while pulling out that stupid science wand of his.

What happens next isn't something you'll ever truly remember well. You do remember pulling at the psionics, ready to snap the toy from the idiot's hand, but knowing Eridan has been just that much faster on the draw. There's a thunderous snarl from somewhere else, then a flash of white that blinds you for a moment. Your powers snap up in a defense that wasn't needed, leaving you confused until you see red. Karkat's red, spurting from under the hand clamped to his shoulder, dripping down his arm in unhealthy amounts, staining the floor where he now stands between the both of you, his sickle forgotten at his feet. He's gone completely still, which is actually more terrifying that the sound you heard earlier. Belatedly, you realize that sound must have come from him. Because when he finally speaks after a few seconds of nothing but blood dripping, he's gone so deep into a rage, your bright and loud and vulgar leader has gone _quiet_.

"_Get. Out_."

Eridan at least has the decency to look ashamed of himself for involving someone else in this little display of his. "Kar—" he tries to say.

That's when you snap. First he hurts your matesprit, then he has the gall to use some sort of familiar nickname, like that somehow makes up for the harm he's already caused. It pushes all the wrong buttons and your vision goes black as a snarl of your own echoes out, backed by your wild lash of uncontrolled psychokinesis. When the world comes back into focus again, there's a wash of violet blood streaked across the floor and the two of you are nearly alone in the room. Of the seven people who used to be standing around, Strider's the only one still there. You snarl at him, but he returns with a perfect blank, and then Karkat's toppling over and you decide pity takes precedence. Later, after you've calmed enough to think straight, you realize Dave was the perfect one to stay and provide medical aid. He doesn't care, so he's not a perceived threat, and that means the two of you can get KK's shoulder fixed before something more drastic happens.

You are Sollux Captor, and even you are surprised by how vehemently you will protect your mate, but exceptionally pleased that your mate feels the same way towards you.


	12. Chapter 12

One would think that life on a hurdling hunk of rock for three years would be boring. You'd like to introduce anyone who actually thinks like that to the flat of your foot as it grinds them into the floor for harbouring such a blatantly naive and atrociously stupid notion in their think-pan. As if trying to keep a lid on the idiocy your normal crew likes to carelessly fling about wasn't enough fun on its own, you now have two humans thrown into the mix, who know almost nothing about troll societal niceties and care even less about how their own inept interactions may, can, and will fuck it up for everyone else on this shit pile of an asteroid.

You are, of course, thinking very specifically about one Dave Strider in this particular instance.

If you had your way, you'd draw a goddamn line across the whole meteor, sectioning off troll territory from human allowances, but that's both impractical and pointless since no one would bother to actually pay attention to the lines even if you did manage to get them everywhere (except maybe Terezi if you did it all in red, and even then, all she'd do is lick it up). You got accused of being xenophobic a couple of times, which is so many levels of moronic that words fail to adequately express it. What no one else seems to understand that you have douchbags for friends, a group of indelible assholes who are floundering through thousands of sweeps of ingrained warrior mentality and heavily enforced social structure that suddenly _no longer exists_. The violence and instability inherent in the inadvertent anarchy has almost killed everyone once and you'll be damned if you're going to go through _that_ again.

It's just…nothing seems to get through to your fellow knight. His mouth moves, words fall out in a more or less coherent manner (he's always got some sort of perpetual in-joke going on in whatever he says, it seems), but that's all you ever get off of him—words. If the two of you were squared off in a chat client, things would be different. The blank that his rambling possesses would be a given considering typed words can only convey so much. In the interest of self-preservation, you've gotten damn good a picking apart phrasing, vocabulary, and intonation, mixing it with context and body language, and getting something close to a reliable feel for what's really being said when you actually talk with someone. It tells you when to push, when to pull back, when topic or perspective or imagery needs to be changed so that the information sinks in rather than dripping out the other aural sponge. And Strider gives you nothing except empty words.

"You're trying too hard, KK," Sollux tells you constantly when your frustration with the situation boils over. And maybe you are. You don't listen very well to him though, because you know he finds the whole situation rather funny, going as far as to even hash out the word "kismesis" at one point to describe how you and Strider interact. Considering how much he hates the repeated lisp, you know he did it on purpose. The thought of going black for the troll with pink skin is somewhat ludicrous as well. You hate the way he acts and talks, not _him_ personally. Not that you'll ever admit it, out loud or otherwise, but having a God Tier around who isn't certifiably insane is kind of a comfort.

It's just gotten to the point where you're ready to give up (after all, it's not like any death he gets here is going to be just or heroic and you've survived two revenge cycles already) when you happen across your matesprit interacting with the source of your recent aggravation. Sollux likes to take on projects for the others as a way to pass the time—he built you a portable computer for the times you have to hide away with Gamzee, created a program for Nepeta to help with her shipping wall, fashioned a time measuring device for Lalonde, and now, some sort of sound creating contraption for Strider. They're arguing about something you don't understand, but that isn't what has you stopping to watch. It's the way they're interacting. Or rather, the way they aren't.

There's heat in their words, that much you can tell from where you're standing. Bits of colour have come to their faces as proof of their vehemence. There's limited aggression in their stances, however, and in that, there's almost nothing that will push this beyond words. Nothing at all like any of the clashes your mate's been through with Eridan, where it's all demonstration and domination. They rarely get more than a few insults in before the actual fighting starts. Even more amazing is when Sollux's tone takes that sharp edge that's indicative of when emotion starts fueling his psionics, Strider makes a small, yet important adjustment to his stance.

Holy fuck, the ingrate does actually know how to be subordinate. Who knew that Strider had actually been paying attention to everything you were trying to teach him?

It's flawless, really, the way the human shifts through the various stages as their argument progresses. Forward and backwards they go, almost dancing through the thousands of little things that play out between blood castes, personal relationships, and age. It's never anything overt, commanding, demanding of retaliation, but all the manipulations that make Strider nonthreatening without making him inferior or his point of view any less valid. Sollux responds in kind and though the words continue to do battle, never once do you feel the need to get between them in order to protect your mate. It's a nice change of pace…

When you see Sollux later, the first thing you do it pull him into for a kiss. "The fuck is wrong with you?" he asks, but you just shake your head and give him another kiss, resolving to listen a little better next time.

You are Karkat Vantas, and you think that maybe, just maybe, everyone's really going to survive this.


	13. Chapter 13

Concupiscent quadrants are designed to flip back and forth. It's part of having a healthy emotional system, allowing mates on either side to vent opposite emotions without causing serious damage to either party. Flushed partners can argue out their aggressive tendencies while caliginous partners catch a breather before either party ends up dead or irreparably maimed. After all, the only difference between matespritship and kismesissitude is the same difference between being _passionately violent_ and _violently passionate_—which is to say that there almost isn't anything separating one stance from the other, save intention and starting point.

You started in the red. For the most part, it's easy to stay there. Karkat is immensely pitiable because he tries so hard, sometimes too hard, to be not just a perfect matesprit, but a defender, a judicator, a stabilizer, and whatever the hell else he seems to think he needs to be in order for everyone to keep living. He bears an incredible amount of self-hatred that then combines with his forceful independence to form military grade trust/abandonment/self-worth issues. He's so backwards, he's facing forward again, twisted up and screwed around until there's no direction he can go without tearing something up in the process. You can swing through some pretty harsh extremes yourself, but it's always a swing, meant to apex as some point before shifting back in the opposite direction. KK spirals, each individual "failure" not so much pushing him in one direction as it directly feeds into the next "failure", and then the next, keeping him twirling and unstable. Now that you can see it for what it is, it's almost impossible _not_ to want to protect him from himself.

That doesn't mean the two of you don't still argue. Harassing one another is the foundation of your relationship. Teasing, taunting, riling one another up until you both accidentally tip over the line of decency and into cruelty, followed quickly by the ever awkward but inevitable scramble back to neutral territory with hasty apologizes and studious kindness for the next few days. Fire was what attracted you to Karkat in the first place, while your own stubborn and contrary personality made you stay. Given that and the slippery nature of the red and the black, it was really only a matter of time before the fairytale flush you two shared flipped itself over.

It started off with him snarling something about someone, you don't really remember who, while you were working. Probably Strider; that's always a good bet to make nowadays. In any case, you'd heard it all before and weren't all that interested in hearing it again. You snapped back with something sarcastic. He bristled and retaliated, you countered and insinuated. You both were acting like you were still three sweeps old and it was your first time out on the internet. It was pretty invigorating, all things considering. The two of you hadn't argued this freely in a while out of some sense of you couldn't because of the flush. It just kept going, though, needling each other further and further, far past playful even though it never wandered into out rightly hurtful.

KK snapped first. Literally, in this case, with his teeth bare inches from your face. You pushed him away and he bullied his way back in, until hands stopped pushing and started grabbing. It never occurred to you to use your psionics as the two of you fell to the floor in a tangled knot of limbs, rolling this way and that, trying to establish dominance. Physicality has never been your forte, so you were the one who ended up with his back pressed against the uniform grey tile, but nothing stopped you from clawing and biting and hissing defiance as you both scrabbled at one another. In fact, you're rather certain your mate enjoyed it considering he did nothing to stop you.

It was all clashing teeth and invading tongues, raking claws, drawn blood and bruising holds. That brilliant fire that had enamoured you from the start was bright in KK's slate coloured eyes, reminding you of all the ways he was strong, prevailing, and not the least bit pitiable. This was the Karkat who took no one's shit, who gleefully threw up middle fingers to the universe and screamed for a more suitable challenge. He was beautiful in a terrible and magnificent way, glistening in the cold black of his arrogance and supremacy. It made him gorgeously dangerous and you revealed in that danger. You wanted nothing more than to claim it for yourself, drive it higher, make him the glorious dark avatar he was so obviously meant to be. It _was_ yours, and you met it with all the icy pride and haughty conceit in you, which in turn only seemed to make him want you more.

Not for the first time, you wondered what it would be like to actually take this to the bucket. But for as much as you both wished you could go that far, biology was still against you, which meant that you simply ended up rutting against each other until the impulses started to die back down. You spent the time waiting for your think-pans to start functioning again by licking at the wounds you'd both inflicted. Each drop of blood helped fight back the cold that took over everything inside you. Amid many small hisses of pain and moans of pleasure, you both settled back into the more familiar embrace of flushed love.

"Are we still…?" The ritualized question was all it took to complete the reset; warmth flooded back into the last of the numbed places, letting you kiss him with all the care a matesprit deserves.

"Yes. A thousand times, yes." And that finished warming him back up, leaving him pliant and still against you while the two of you calmed down again.

You are Sollux Captor, and while you're more than stupidly happy with the stability of your flush, you'd be lying if you said you weren't equally excited about the next brush against the black.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Just as a side note, I am running out of ideas for these things. I'm open to suggestions if someone wants to send them my way.

* * *

As hard as it can be to believe, you do get tired of arguing. You're stubborn, surly, reactionary, and paranoid, which means you never really _stop_ being in a position to fight, but you do get tired of it, which is a point of fact a lot of people don't understand. It's probably part of the reason you went pale for Gamzee in the first place—you don't have to fight with him about much of anything. He takes your venom in stride, rebuking any strike you take at him with a softness that usually confounds the anger right out of you, or failing that, will you into submission with that weird presence he only gets sometimes anymore. The majority of your time spent together is quiet. You'll bust each other up over important things without a second thought; that goes without saying. Most of the time, though, you're both happy to just sit together and do whatever and that's usually the most either of you need. It's a break from being constantly on your guard. A chance to breathe freely because there is another's strength there to protect you. And in the times when words have to be exchanged, it's never been so much arguing between the two of you as it is an active discussion with dissenting points of view. (Yeah, okay, that pretty much means the exact same thing, but it's not done at full volume, so fuck off, it's different.)

In contrast, you've always enjoyed arguing with Sollux, which is probably the major reason why the two of you manage to argue over some of the most inane shit this side of paradox space. Anything has the potential to be turned into grounds for a verbal sparring match between the two of you. Even in the times you wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his scrawny neck, though, there's a part of you that felt elated. He didn't bend easily, rarely broke under the extra pressure, and met you step for step along the way, never giving you an easy victory no matter how right you were. Stubborn defensiveness against blatant contrariness, scalding enmity against nihilistic intelligence, and yet there was never anything intentionally threatening or damaging lurking behind your words. Granted, sometimes you managed to cross that boundary between a good fight and petty squabbling, managing to stab at those soft spots you both knew existed but never acknowledged. If the whole ragnarok thing hadn't happened, and the two of you had continued just trolling one another into young adulthood, you might have ended up trading spades instead of hearts.

Or not. As enjoyable as your little black fling was, as sexy as your mate was pinned under you, growling and hissing and fucking gorgeous in his insufferable arrogance, you really think he wears the red better. Maybe it's just because you're standing on the other end of that string or because this is your first flush that you think things like this, but whatever the case, Sollux is _more_ as a result. There really isn't a more accurate way to describe it. He's still a teasing, smug, sarcastic asshole; there's just more to it now. Since going flushed, he's become amazingly stable, his mood swings slower and less dramatic than they have been. No more five days and counting coding binges. His in-all-ways-except-actually-dead depression cycle doesn't leave him broken as often. He still has his sparking moments, you all do, but overall he seems happier, steadier, and more at ease with himself than he ever was before.

The emotional displays seem to be more genuine as well. His laugh has moved out of the condescending nasal range and down into his chest more, turning into an actual laugh and less that dry-ass snicker that means he thinks he's being smart. His smiles are a bit more relaxed and the gesture itself has become significantly less about bearing his teeth. His eyes have become a couple touches softer and more likely to show something from behind that veil of psionic power that usually keeps them clouded over. There's more animation in his face period, his body in general, and the way he still sometimes asks for permission to touch or kiss you turns you into a sticky sap fountain in seconds flat because it's so goddamn innocent.

It's reflected out into you, too. You won't come out and say you're happy because you're pretty sure happy could make a nest in your entrails and you still wouldn't be able to recognize it, but you're not hurling abuse quite at the rate you used to, either. For all his volatile nature, being with Sollux is incredibly grounding, like being in the eye of storm. The violence soars around you rather than through, letting you see things you haven't been able to before and can't anywhere else. As a result, you don't feel quite so closed in anymore. You're not pinned down, constantly ready for fight or flight. You're still idiotically paranoid and you don't think that's ever going to change; it just doesn't seem as poignant anymore.

Still, you want to keep what you have, so you hesitate in pushing back any time Sollux starts trying to rile you up. You miss the rambling arguments, but you're not willing to give up the flush just to have them back. Most of the time, he'll back off again if you don't rise to his bait or sink to his level, though lately he's become more insistent with his prodding. You're just starting to wonder if maybe the black is really where you're meant to be when it finally occurs to you despite the needling, the warmth you feel from him never wavers. In fact, it swells when you cautiously poke back, and as it builds in intensity between the both of you, he only seems to get happier. The kiss you receive at the culmination of your argument is painfully red and reminds you how he once admitted that teasing was a form of affection for him.

You are Karkat Vantas, and you can't believe it's taken you this long to figure out that being flushed means more than just pity and love—it's being accepted in every way possible.


End file.
